Meet and Greet
by Lif61
Summary: As an FBI agent Stiles usually takes the cases that seem to deal with the supernatural. When Agent McCall assigns someone else to a case that seems more Stiles' area of expertise, he decides to do some investigating of his own. He happens upon two fake FBI agents, and they're there for the same reason; to get rid of a pack of werewolves.


**A/N: This was my first time writing a crack fic and a crossover. If you guys like it, feel free to leave a review.**

* * *

"This sounds like any typical serial killer," Agent McCall said to Stiles, lifting his eyes up from the document in his hand.

"To you," Stiles responded. "As far as we know the attacks are random, and serial killers like to stick to a pattern."

He dropped the file on his desk, and started putting his suit jacket on as he stood.

"Stiles, there'll be a pattern. We just have to dig deep enough."

"But _something_ doesn't feel right," he responded. "I don't trust anyone else having this case."

"So what, now you have more jurisdiction than me just because you've been through more crap?"

Agent McCall grabbed his stuff and began leaving his office, Stiles following behind him.

"Kind of, yeah," Stiles responded, making his best friend's dad turn to him as he let out an exasperated huff. "Look, I know I'm not supposed to question you or anything, but I have a feeling about this one. Whatever's going on it's something supernatural. I just know it."

"Stiles, you said that about the last one, and it turned out to be just another psychotic human being."

"This one's different."

"How do you know? Has Lydia sensed anything?"

"Well, no, but-"

"No buts. I'm not giving you this case and that's that. Now stop obsessing about it. Go home. Go see your wife."

With that Agent McCall walked away, leaving Stiles feeling a little hopeless. It'd been a few years since he'd graduated college, and those high school years sometimes seemed far away, and he'd changed since then. A little bit, at least. He tended to follow the laws more often, but he started thinking that maybe he was going to have to break it to solve this case. He was going to be saving lives after all.

But he couldn't do anything without talking to Lydia about it first. He trusted her judgment and wanted to see what she thought about it all.

He went home, and Lydia had already gotten there a half hour ago (he'd memorized her work schedule). She worked as a scientific adviser for the U.S. government, meaning that she and Stiles got to live together in a house that was much bigger than he was used to.

"Hi, sweetie," she greeted him, her voice traveling to him from somewhere in the house.

Stiles took off his coat, put his bag down and then followed the sound of her voice. He found her in their shared study, her brow furrowed as she looked over some notes she had. Her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled up into a messy bun to keep it out of her face.

Instantly he went to her and tackled her in a hug, giving her a kiss on the cheek as he did so. He breathed in her sweet scent contentedly, a smile on his face.

"How was your day?" he asked her.

"The usual," she answered. Then she looked up at him. "Yours?"

Stiles gave her a kiss, knowing she'd be mad if he skimped out on that. Besides, her lips _were_ really amazing, but as he kissed her his mind was busy thinking over the case he'd gotten wind of.

Once they broke apart they brushed their noses together, smiles on their faces.

"That's not an answer," Lydia told him softly.

"I know. I just like kissing you."

" _Or_ something happened today that you don't want to talk about."

Stiles pushed a few things aside and then sat himself down on her desk as he said honestly, "Actually, it's the opposite of that."

She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, looking up at him. "So what is it?"

"I think there's a violent werewolf pack in the area."

* * *

"So call Scott," Lydia told him once again, watching as he paced back and forth across the living room. He'd explained the situation to her, and now she was just trying to give him suggestions, but nothing satisfied him.

Stiles shook his head. "No, I shouldn't bother him."

"You wouldn't be bothering him. He's your friend. He wouldn't mind helping out."

He stopped his pacing, looking at her. "Yeah, but what if I'm wrong? I was last time."

Lydia's lips turned into a little pout as she gave him a sympathetic look. She went up to him and ran her hands down his arms, grasping his hands.

"Stiles, that was _one_ time. Your instinct about this stuff is sometimes almost as good as my own abilities. Trust yourself on this one. I do."

She kissed him softly and he found himself wrapping his arms around her, one hand making its way into her hair. She leaned into him, a soft sound of pleasure leaving her.

They pulled away, yet that kiss had been enough to make desire spark in him, slowly filling him with heat.

"So what do I do?" Stiles eventually asked. "Doing illegal things is even more risky than it was back when we were teenagers, and I really don't want to drag Scott into this in case it gets messy."

"Then take care of it on your own. I know you can."

They kissed again, and this time Stiles swept her off her feet, and carried her bridal style to their bedroom.

* * *

The next day he had work, but he called in sick just so he could get some time to investigate the case. It was in Pennsylvania, two hours away. Lydia had wanted to go with him, but Stiles didn't want her to get in trouble with work. Besides, he knew how much she loved her job. So now, he was on his way over to the town where the killings had taken place.

He checked into a motel, just to keep a low profile, changed into one of the suits he'd brought with him, made sure he had his badge, and then went to check out the crime scene. He was careful, making sure that the feds actually assigned to the case weren't lurking around anywhere. If he had timed his departure right they wouldn't even be there for another hour.

Just as he was finishing up asking the local police officers some questions he saw two men in suits start walking over, and they looked like they meant business. They were big, muscular, and Stiles couldn't help but notice, attractive. Not as attractive as Lydia, of course. No one beat her. The two men carried themselves like FBI agents, exuding confidence, however, one had hair that went against regulation; it was too long.

Stiles was glad he'd brought his gun with him – it was hidden in the waistband of his pants – because this spoke of trouble.

"Agent," the two men said in unison, nodding to him.

They were about to walk past him and Stiles put a hand on the shoulder of the taller one, the one with the near shoulder-length hair, stopping him in his tracks.

"What are you doing here?" he asked them. "Didn't Agent McCall tell you this is my case?"

The two men looked at each other, and the shorter one said, "Yeah, he just sent us to help out."

"Let me see some badges," Stiles said.

"Only if you show us yours."

Stiles shrugged and took out his badge, letting them both get a good look at it. "There, happy?"

The two men exchanged glances again and then took out badges of their own. Stiles had made enough illegal copies in his life to instinctively know when something wasn't right, and those badges were fake.

"So who are you?" Stiles asked.

"I'm Agent Gabriel," the tall one said, and then pointed a thumb at the other man, "this is Agent Collins."

Stiles shook hands with each of them. "Agent Stilinski, but you can call me Stiles. Nice to meet you. Anyway, I've already talked to the police, so how about we grab some lunch and I'll go over the details with you."

The shorter one began stepping forward, and the tall one stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Sounds good," the tall one said. "Know any halfway decent places around here?"

"My guess is as good as yours, but I saw a diner two blocks down. You two can follow me there."

"Got it."

They went back to their respective vehicles. Stiles took in a deep breath when he got to his car, but started making his way to the diner. He quickly dialed Agent McCall as he did so. He was probably about to get into trouble, but it was worth it; impersonating a government agent was a serious crime.

He found it odd that the two of them just happened to show up to supposedly work a case that wasn't his. And they hadn't even questioned him about it. Something was going on here.

"Agent McCall," Stiles began, "you're gonna be pissed, but hear me out. I went to Pennsylvania-"

"Damn it, Stiles! I told you not to. Do you know how bad this looks? You calling in sick just to go off and work someone else's case?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, whatever, you can demote me later, but that's not the point. These two men showed up claiming to be FBI agents."

"Two men? The _agent_ I gave the case to is a _woman_."

"One of the men has longer hair, but he's certainly not a woman. They're following right behind me right now. I'm bringing them to a restaurant just to talk. Maybe I can find out what's going on before anything too crazy happens."

"You want back up?"

Stiles looked in his rearview mirror, getting a glimpse of them. They _were_ big men, but he could handle himself. He hadn't survived high school by running and hiding.

"No, I'm good."

With that he hung up.

They got to the diner and ordered some food. After the waiter left they began to ask questions about the case.

Rather than answer a single one, Stiles leaned in and said in a low voice, "I know you two aren't real FBI agents, so what are you really doing here? Tell me the truth, and no one has to get hurt."

"Agent Collins" tried to keep up the act, but "Agent Gabriel" sighed and asked, "What gave it away?"

Stiles pointed at him, answering bluntly, "Your hair. If you really want to impersonate an FBI agent you should probably cut it.

"Agent Collins" grinned at Stiles. "Finally I'm not the only one who thinks he needs a hair cut."

"Agent Gabriel" started self-consciously running a hand over his hair and ended up tucking some of it behind his ears. "Whatever," he grumbled.

Stiles was surprised by how non-threatening they seemed at the moment. They'd just been found out, yet they seemed calm, and were acting surprisingly casual with Stiles.

"So who are you really?" Stiles asked, thinking they'd tell him the truth.

He wondered what was going on. Why were they here? Why were they doing what they were doing? Maybe most people would pass it up as a coincidence that they were here to supposedly work on a case that Stiles had wished he'd been assigned, but Stiles didn't believe in coincidences, not when they were this strange.

"I'm Dean," the shorter one answered, and then gestured to the other one, "and this is Sam. We're brothers, and we're here because we think we know what's killing people."

Stiles leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. He was intrigued, but he had the feeling that he knew more than them about this. "Oh yeah? What?"

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you," Sam said.

"Yeah? Try me." They remained silent, so Stiles got up out of his seat while threatening, "Okay, then I guess I'll just go make a few phone calls and have the two of you arrested for impersonating government agents. That sound good to you?"

"Sit down," Dean grumbled.

Stiles raised his eyebrows, especially at his commanding tone. Most people didn't have the guts to treat an FBI agent that way.

Sam gave him an apologetic look and then gestured for him to take his seat again. Stiles did just that.

Dean leaned forward and said in a low voice so that the few other people in the diner wouldn't accidently overhear. "We think we're dealing with werewolves."

Stiles nearly widened his eyes at that. How the hell did they know about werewolves? He wondered if they knew about all the other stuff out there as well.

Still, he wanted to shock them. They clearly didn't think that he also had knowledge about werewolves.

"No shit," he answered.

They were taken aback, and both seemed to be processing what he'd just said.

"This isn't a joke, li-" Dean started to say.

Stiles cut him off, "Do I look like I'm joking?"

Sam studied his face then said to Dean, "He doesn't look like he's joking."

"Yeah, I gathered that."

"So who are you?" Sam asked him. "A hunter?"

Stiles' face scrunched up in confusion. "A hunter? Please, I'm nothing like a hunter." They just gave him dumbfounded looks. "But I'm guessing you two are, which means we're both here for the same problem; werewolves."

"If you're an FBI agent, how do you know about werewolves?"

"I took a course on the supernatural at FBI training school," Stiles answered sarcastically. He didn't give Sam and Dean time to ask more questions and just said, "Look, if we're going to get rid of this pack, let's just get rid of this pack. We can have a meet and greet later."

The two brothers looked disgruntled, but agreed.

* * *

Three days. That's how long it took to get rid of the pack. Stiles felt no remorse about it. These werewolves were different than his friends. They were violent, uncaring, more animal than human. The two brothers, the Winchesters, helped a great deal. They tried to pry into his life every now and then, but Stiles always deflected with a joke or a sarcastic comment. He had just wanted to focus on getting rid of the pack because the faster he did that the less chance that more people would end up dead.

In that time, Stiles had checked in with Lydia every morning and night, letting her know he was okay, and giving her updates on the case. He had yet to tell her about Sam and Dean though.

After it was all over they were wearing their casual clothes – Stiles couldn't help but notice that Sam really had a liking for plaid – and were at a bar. Stiles had promised to buy them drinks once it was all over, so he decided to hold to that promise. Besides, he was just as curious about the Winchesters as they were about him.

The buzz of talking and laughter permeated the dimly lit bar, but it was a little quieter in the back corner where he, Sam, and Dean were sitting.

As they waited for their drinks, Stiles began, "So I know about the supernatural because my best friend is a werewolf."

"And you're not dead?" Dean asked.

"Do I look dead?"

"Guess not," Sam replied.

"Also," Stiles added, "my wife's a banshee, my ex-girlfriend's a werecoyote, and my best friend's fiancée is a kitsune."

By the end of that Sam and Dean were staring at him with wide eyes, and Dean's jaw had dropped. He took a few seconds to collect himself and then asked, his voice seeming to almost get stuck in his throat, "What?"

"You're telling me, you know all these creatures," Sam began, "and you're not dead?"

"Guys, we've been over this. I'm not dead. This _is_ a new body, not the one I was born with, but whatever."

"So it's a vessel?" Sam guessed.

Stiles answered without explanation, not really in the mood for thinking about the nogitsune, "What? No. So anyway, back to the not dead thing, why would I be dead? All my friends are really great."

"Great," Dean mused. "Yeah, okay."

"It's true."

"Tell that to the people they've killed."

"Oh, I would, but you see, they've never killed anyone. I mean, Lydia did this one time, but that guy wasn't exactly human." Stiles pressed his fingers to his forehead. "He had a third eye and he was experimenting on her. Okay, well Kira _did_ kill someone, but they were a chimera."

"A chi-what-now?" Dean asked.

"You're crazy," Sam said, staring at him in awe.

Their drinks were brought over, two beers for the brothers and just some soda water for Stiles (he'd tried to get into alcoholic beverages, but they weren't for him).

He took a sip of his drink and just said, "Thanks, I know."

"So what are you?" Dean asked.

"Human," Stiles answered. "Last I checked anyway, although this one time I was possessed by a demon and-"

"A demon?"

"Yeah, you know, really evil spirit, likes to get inside people and make them run around and kill."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes, we know what a demon is, more than most folks."

"Way more," Dean answered. "I have the king of Hell on speed dial."

Now it was Stiles' turn to be shocked. He couldn't tell if they were joking or not. "Really?"

"Wait, you have him on speed dial?" Sam asked in astonishment. "Dean, what the hell?"

"What? He's pretty handy in a tight spot."

Sam let out an exasperated huff and took a swig of beer.

Stiles interrupted what looked to be turning into an argument by asking, "Can I have his number?"

Both brothers turned to him, looking perplexed.

"Why would you want his number?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean chimed in, "we're not joking when say he's the king of Hell. He's _literally_ the king of Hell."

"Oh no, I believe you. I just want to ask him what he had done to Theo Raeken."

"Who?"

"An old friend of mine," Stiles explained, putting up air quotes when he said "friend".

"What happened?" Sam questioned.

"So this whacked up dude was a chimera," – Dean looked confused at that – "and also a werewolf, sort of. Anyway, the kitsune, Kira, sent him to Hell, but then my friend Liam let him out again. He's not so bad now, but I'd rather not hang out with him."

Stiles paused. Even though it'd been years ago he still couldn't forget that Theo had wanted him in his pack, that he'd wanted _Void_.

He shrugged the thought off when Dean looked down and said forlornly, "I know from experience, Hell's not a fun place."

Sam just looked away and nodded his head. Stiles didn't know what kind of crazy stuff these two brothers had been through, but he could see _something_ in their eyes. Something dark and sad. Something that still gave them nightmares sometimes, so Stiles moved on, deciding the best way to distract them would be to continue weirding them out with his life.

He took a sip of his drink and then said out of the blue, "I'm also friends with a Hellhound."

The two brothers were instantly brought back to reality and looked just as perplexed and intrigued as before.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "A Hellhound? God, I hate those things."

Sam nodded.

"No, no, no" Stiles assured them, "this one's not so bad. He works with my dad, and his name's Parrish."

"What does you dad do?" they asked in unison.

"He's a sheriff."

"So what," Sam started to ask, seeming like he was trying to hold back laughter, "does he use him to find drugs in kids' lockers or something?"

Sam and Dean started laughing, which confused Stiles.

"Um… no?"

"So is he a pet?" Dean asked animatedly.

"He walks on two legs, guys, and looks just like us, human. Although, I mean, he _does_ set on fire occasionally."

Sam and Dean stopped laughing, and looked confused. All three of them fell silent.

Sam leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "He sets on fire?"

"Only _occasionally_."

Sam shook his head, and Dean took a long drink from his beer.

"You lead one crazy life," Sam told him.

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, "don't even get me started on the Nazi I hit with a metal bat."

Dean looked to Sam, a smug smile on his face, Sam instantly rolled his eyes, and then Dean said proudly, "I killed Hitler."

"Man, that deserves a high five!" Stiles proclaimed, holding up his hand. He'd fought alongside these men so he knew they were the real deal even though they sounded crazy, but granted, he himself sounded crazy. Dean just looked uncomfortable and Stiles lowered his hand. "No high five then?"

"Cheers," Sam said, holding up his bottle of beer, "to hitting Nazis and killing Hitler."

"I can cheer to that," Dean agreed.

Stiles was enthusiastic about this. The way Sam and Dean were now acting made him think he'd just made two new friends, and some insanely cool ones at that.

"Oh yeah, me too."

They clinked their bottles and glass together, and then took a long drink.

"Okay, guys, next round is on me," Stiles told them.

* * *

And the next round, and the round after that, were also on him. Surprisingly Sam and Dean were only a little tipsy. They'd talked and talked, and they all had crazy stories to tell. But they weren't done yet.

"So let me get this straight," Sam started, "you married a _banshee_."

Stiles proudly held up his left hand to show them his wedding band, a wide smile on his face. "Hell yeah, I did."

Dean leaned over, beer bottle in hand and asked in a serious tone, "Is she hot?"

" _Beyond_ hot," Stiles informed them. "Nothing beats the beauty of Lydia Martin."

"But I thought banshees were ugly."

Stiles jokingly pointed a finger at him and frowned. "Are you calling my wife ugly?"

He chuckled, holding his hands up in defeat. Now Stiles wanted to show them Lydia. Seriously, they shouldn't have gotten him started with talking about Lydia; he could go on and on about her till Hell froze over. Quickly, and more than a bit clumsily, he got his phone out of his pocket to show them a picture of her.

He held out his phone for them to look at once he got the picture up, a smile of adoration on his face since the image was still in his mind. He'd taken it on a lazy Saturday morning when he and Lydia were just drinking coffee together. She hadn't had any makeup on and her hair was in a messy braid resting over one shoulder. Just looking at the photo made him able to hear her laugh, he'd taken it just after he'd spilled coffee on himself. Yes, it had burned, but capturing how beautiful Lydia looked while laughing was much more important to him than changing into something less caffeinated.

They seemed to sober up a little bit as they looked at the photo.

"You're really lucky to have her," Sam told him.

Dean just said, "She's definitely hot."

"Hands off," Stiles warned Dean as he pocketed his phone.

"Hey, I wouldn't dream of it. Besides, I probably couldn't handle a banshee."

"Sometimes I don't even think I can handle her," Stiles admitted. "She's a force of nature."

Just as he was about to start talking about how incredibly smart Lydia was his phone started ringing.

"Sorry, gotta get this."

He took it out of his pocket again, and almost dropped it in his drink once he saw the name on the screen.

He groaned, but answered the call. "Hey, Agent McCall, long time no see."

"Stiles, I haven't heard from you in _three_ _days_. What the hell is happening over there?"

"Nothing. Turns out the fake FBI agents were just LARPing." Stiles winked at them once he said that, and Sam and Dean gave him grateful smiles.

"And you didn't think to inform me about it sooner?"

Despite talking to him over the phone, Stiles shrugged. "No, not really. Oh, and by the way, that case that you said was a serial killer? Totally not. It was a werewolf pack," Stiles bragged. "And guess what, it's all taken care of. So I'm pretty sure you were planning on demoting me or having me fired, but since I just cleaned up a mess for you I'd say I should at least be able to keep my current position, or maybe even get a raise." Before Agent McCall could process what Stiles said he ended the call with, "Okay, sounds good. Bye."

Sam and Dean laughed and Stiles joined in. It'd been a strange weekend, a bit tense at times, but Sam and Dean were definitely guys he could depend on, and he could have a good time with them. That was pretty awesome, and so was solving a case, and so was not losing his job. After this, there was no way McCall could fire him.

And he was happy. Lydia had had faith in him, and his instinct had been right. He was thankful for it because it hadn't just led him to a case. It'd led him to finding two friends who could understand what he'd been through, and he needed as many of those as he could get.


End file.
